The Hanging – Friday Fictioneers

With joy I write this from my brand new, old computer! Yes. Many, MANY thanks to my brother-in-law, Chris, for helping me set up Mick’s computer that had been collecting dust on the floor of the office for 1 1/2 years and for saving my old pictures from my now-defunct one.

Back to business.. Thanks to the 45-years-married wonderful couple of Rochelle and Jan for the joint effort this week. I know, I know… it is Friday Fictioneers… but, I can’t help it if every photo Rochelle choses brings me down memory lane!! I haven’t even bothered to change the names of the players… 😀

Click on the blue frog if you want to read more stories and hey, why don’t you play? Click on Rochelle’s name for the how-to!

Word count: 100

Genre: Memoir

The Hanging

Holding his hand over his throat, he repeatedly took quick peeks in the truck mirror, immediately putting his hand back, while opening and closing his mouth, sticking out his tongue, making choking sounds.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tracy asked.

“I’m afraid to look,” said Mick, sheepishly.

“What? Show me!”

He pulled away his hand, revealing a red welt all across his throat.

“Jeez! What the hell did you do to yourself this time?”

“I took my bike to go to the bathroom and cut across the neighbours’ site as they’re gone now. The idiot left behind his clothesline!”

I’m doing a happy dance for your computer. For me that’s up there with car problems. One could say that Mick was a little on the accident prone side. I had to laugh at visual. Love your memoirs. Keep ’em coming.

Dance away, my friend! I know I am! Felt like I was missing a limb…
That is a nice way of putting it… klutz comes to mind.
Tracy tells it so well as she was there in real time! She does the strangulation sound so well!
I will!

Nice story. My uncle had a similar encounter. He strung a brand new clothesline across his backyard, which was also a busy route for snowmobilers. When a rider complained about the danger of someone hanging themselves on the line, my uncle came up with a plan. He hung a white salt beef bucket on the line so snowmobilers could see the line. Trouble was, it rained that night, and then later that night it froze. The next morning, my uncle found a snowmobiler laying in his yard. He ran into the ice filled bucket, knocking himself out. Thanks for the memory of this funny but yet tragic thing.